


mine

by jeeno2



Series: and in the end [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, FORGE SMUT, First Time, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Light Angst, SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 EPISODE 2, Smut, canonical forge smut, is this 2014 or 2019 i don't even know anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: This kiss isn’t anything like the kisses in the old songs.





	mine

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Season 8, Ep. 2 of Game of Thrones.
> 
> Y'all, I did not have "canon Gendrya forge smut" on my bingo card for 2019 but HERE WE ARE.

This kiss isn’t anything like the kisses in the old songs.

It isn’t shy. It isn’t gentle, or chaste. It’s rushed, clumsy, a little frantic, their noses bumping awkwardly together as they smile against each others lips, as they hurry to divest themselves of their clothes.

But then, Arya never did have much use for the old songs.

She’d been worried he might say no. Not because he wouldn’t want to--Arya’s not blind or stupid, she’s _seen_ the looks he’s been giving her, and she knows men, war, _Gendry_ well enough by now to know he wants this just as badly as she does.

All the same, she could hear all his arguments against this on her cold walk over here tonight. She’s Lady Stark, she is too young, he is an unnamed bastard, and on and on, until she almost talked herself out of what she _knew_ she wanted from the moment she laid eyes on him again here at Winterfell.

“Three,” he’d eventually told her, looking like the admission pained him. He hadn’t wanted her to know he’s been with other girls, though in truth, knowing she is not his first is a relief and makes this easier.

Either way, he’s clearly not thinking of other girls now. Gendry kisses her like he wants to drown in it. Like the world is ending. His lips are chapped from the cold--he is no Northern boy, after all--but they’re pliant, forgiving, and soft against hers. As Arya opens her mouth to him, traces the seam of his full lips with the tip of her tongue, and allows the sound of his gentle sighs to settle in at the base of her spine, Arya can’t help but wonder if this is, in fact, a little what drowning is like.

She wants to know the feel of his muscled chest beneath her palms. She wants to feel him, hot and urgent and moving inside her, as they shake apart in each other’s arms.

She wants to feel everything, before it’s too late.

She wants to feel it with him. Only him.

And so Arya puts her hands on his bare chest and shoves him, _hard_. He falls back against the furs--willing, compliant--the stunned, reverent look on his face the only encouragement Arya needs to strip down the rest of the way. She ignores the chill of the forge as her clothes fall to the floor--her tunic; her underthings--letting herself think of nothing but how badly she wants this and him.

When at last she is bare, Gendry’s eyes take her in. _All_ of her. They start at her face and slowly drift downward, drinking in the generous woman’s curves she certainly did not have the last time he saw her. And then they linger several beats too long on the long, jagged scars she earned in Braavos. He sucks in an audible breath when he sees them, and Arya knows he wants to know _why_ , and _how_ , because if the tables were turned and he had scars like these marking his body it’s exactly where her mind would go.

But reminiscing and catching up on what they’ve missed in each others’ lives is not why she came here tonight.

There simply isn’t time.

If they both survive tomorrow… Well. Maybe then.

“Take your own bloody pants off,” she says abruptly, to change the subject. To distract him.

It works. His hands fly to his belt, his hands shaking in his haste to obey her command. His body is long, and leaner than it was when they were younger, and…

 _Mine_ , she thinks, fiercely, as she climbs atop his prone body.

He kisses her again, soft and heartbreakingly sweet, as she settles in.

“Arya,” he breathes against her lips, wrapping his arms around her as she kisses him back.

The night before her death, Arya Stark has never felt more alive.

 

* * *

 

Gendry’s cock is hard, and hot against her palm, and thicker than she’d imagined it might be during all those years spent trying not to think about where he was or what he might be doing. Arya watches his face, listens to his breath stutter and catch in his throat, as she tentatively slides her hand up and down.

“Like this?” His skin is so _soft_ here, like silk, she’d had no idea, and she hates herself, just a little, for not knowing instinctively how to do this.

But if he notices her hesitation he shows no sign of it. On the contrary. His eyes hold hers with wonder and reverence (and love, maybe, but no, now is not the time to think about that). Like she hung the moon and every glittering star in the sky.

“Yes,” he reassures her, nodding a little. His voice is strangled. He looks like he’s about to burst out of his skin. She wants to see that, wants to make it happen, with her hands. Her body. “Just... just like this.”

When she places him at her entrance his eyes widen, glaze over. He bites his lip, and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat.

She chases the movement with her tongue, licking it as she slides down.

 

* * *

 

Gendry wants to make this last.

Every instinct in his body is _screaming_ at him to be gentle with her, to take care of her, this girl who has haunted his dreams half his life. He mustn’t rush this. He has to go slow. Because Arya has never done this before and he has, and he would do anything, literally _anything_ , in his power to make her last memories of this life be ones of pleasure.

But Arya won’t have it. _Gods,_ she won’t have it.

“ _More,”_ she begs him, _orders_ him, and he doesn’t have it in him to refuse her, he never has, and so he flips them so that she’s lying on her back and he can give her what she wants. She is so tight around his cock he nearly came undone the moment he sheathed himself inside her moments ago, and it’s even worse now, in this position, when he has more control. But he gives himself to her, gives her what she needs, what she wants, and he fucks her into the thin mattress the way he’s wanted to do for longer than he’s willing to admit to himself. He fucks her so hard her beautiful tits bounce beneath him on every thrust, shaking the walls of the forge so much anyone passing by would surely guess what is happening in here if they bothered to try.

But he doesn’t care what they think. Not right now. Not with Arya lying beneath him in his bed, splayed out for him, urging him to go faster deeper, _harder._

“Gendry…”

She’s close now, he can feel it, she is so _fucking_ close, the walls of her tight little cunt are starting to flutter around him, and this is nothing like how he imagined this might happen, during all those lonely years spent wondering if she was still alive, still out there, somewhere. But he’ll take it, he’ll fucking take it, the way she sounds, the way she _feels_ , and when she comes apart on a startled cry he knows he will take that glorious sound with him into the next life.

She looks into his eyes, then, and grabs his ass, trying to pull him even further inside her, and he’s done for. The pleasure overtakes him, blinds him, whiting out his vision as stars burst behind his eyelids, as he follows her into the abyss.

 

* * *

 

When dawn breaks, Arya rolls over in the furs to face him.

He is so beautiful, she thinks to herself, before she can tamp down the sentimental thought. Especially like this, in sleep. The lines at the corners of his eyes, his lips, smooth out, leaving him looking younger, peaceful.

Like someone she could get to know again, come to love again, probably. If life had been kinder to them both.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to each corner of his mouth. He sighs a little in his sleep but does not wake.

He throws a strong arm around her, pulling her closer.

Soon, the battle horns will sound. Soon, she will be herded into the crypts with most of the other women and children. Soon, Gendry will be pressed into service despite the fact that he clearly is no fighter, forced to fight an army that they have no hope of defeating.

But for now…

For now, Arya buries her face in his broad shoulder. Breathes him in. In dawn’s early light he smells like sweat, and sex, and _them_ , and gods, she hopes they will have more time, after.

 _Mine_ , she thinks again, for the thousandth time.

“Mine,” she says aloud.

“Yours,” he agrees, under his breath, tugging her closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter at [jeenonamit](https://twitter.com/jeenonamit/)!  
> I'm also on tumblr at [jeeno2](https://jeeno2.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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